


Close Quarters

by 1Ced0Alteram1



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games), Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Character Study, Drunk Kissing, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jedi Exile is basically a mindflayer lol, Masturbation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Smut starts in chapter 2, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:15:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Ced0Alteram1/pseuds/1Ced0Alteram1
Summary: Post-game, follows the exploits of Atton and the Exile on a suicide mission to the Unknown Regions.“The way I see it, I don’t have any business having a future. I don’t deserve one.”
Relationships: Female Jedi Exile/Atton "Jaq" Rand, The Jedi Exile/Atton "Jaq" Rand
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

Pain shot through his abdomen. The sensation was quickly followed by a heady feeling of dizziness. Hot bile crept up his throat, and Atton forced himself to swallow it – he wasn’t interested in throwing up all over the ship’s control panel. He had enough on his plate without adding “clean up blood and vomit out of the FTL processors” to the list.

Well. . . he still had all his teeth, at least. Atton rubbed his tongue over his front teeth again, just to make sure. Yep. Still there. Maybe one of the back molars was a little loose, but he could deal with that.

Considering the massive beating he’d had back on Malachor V, Atton had to admit things could have been a lot worse. _Sion had an impressive knack at breaking bones, I’ll give him that._ Dueling Sion was certainly the most brutal fight Atton had ever walked away from . . . and if you were going to get technical, it wasn’t so much “walking away from” as running away while bleeding profusely.

Then again, pride was a luxury Atton had never really been able to afford. He ran away from that vibroblade freak the moment he had the chance. Ran away from Kreia, too.

On one level, he guessed it wasn’t the most honorable thing for a Jedi-in-training to run away with his tail between his legs.

But, if he’d been honorable, he’d probably be dead right now.

Anyway, it all worked out in the end. Right?

Sounds of hard, purposeful footsteps approached the cockpit. Her footsteps. Not difficult to recognize, honestly. Considering how long she had been out of the military, it was interesting how she still carried herself with the gait of an officer.

Hell, sometimes he had the irrational fear she would write him up for being out of uniform or she’d notice that his blaster hadn’t been re-zeroed.

“Nice weather we’re having. Just a spot of lethal radiation and flying debris from the imploding planet below us. Kind of a nice view though, actually.” Atton said, attempting to hide any physical pain he might be in from her. It’s true, Malachor V had a nice green fireball where that horrible planet had once been. Good riddance.

Atton didn’t even need to turn around to know that she was frowning at him. At times, he found she was easily irritated (a bad trait, even for an ex-Jedi), and the idea of pushing her buttons amused him more than it really should. Anything to distract himself, he guessed, from the fact he suspected a few of his fingers on his left hand were probably broken or at least severely sprained.

“Atton,” Her voice sounded slightly harsh, another one of those remnants from her officer days, “You’re in no state to be flying a ship. Get up from that chair immediately.”

“Is that an order, ma’am?”

“You’re bleeding out, how in the _hell_ are you managing to still sass me?” 

“Heh. I’ve had worse.” He felt the bile creep up his throat again, and just out of sheer spite, he stopped himself from being sick. It would be embarrassing to throw up right after boasting you got this under control. “Plus, the hyperspace routes in this backwater of space are all disorganized and probably haven’t been updated for ages. You need to find a route manually in these parts before jumping. Which, y’know, requires me to sit in this chair and try not to get the ship pummeled by space debris.”

Her eyes bored into the back of his skull, but she moved her attention elsewhere. He could feel her reaching out with her mind, her aura almost growing into a bright spotlight. Out and out of the ship her mind traveled, scanning the vast area of space around the Ebon Hawk, and using the Force to detect any potential threats. As his own powers became more developed, it was easier to recognize the ripples of these invisible things in the Force.

On instinct, he shut his own mind tightly behind a memorized rhythm of pazaak card numbers. Not like she didn’t already know all his dirty laundry. But, still, he didn’t want her creeping in where he didn’t want her. There were still a few things he’d rather she didn’t know; he wanted to keep it that way. And, after Malachor V, the potent adrenaline rush of battle hadn’t completely resided. . . and, frankly, that made his mind even more vulnerable. You thought about all sorts of horrific, personal, shamefully private things after nearly dying.

“You’re doing an adequate job of staying away from of the projectiles.” Her voice suddenly softened, as she let out a weary sigh, “But you really are too stubborn. T3 can handle this just as well.”

“Now you’re just trying to insult me.” He bristled slightly, “That trash compactor can barely tumble its way across a room, let alone pilot a ship out of a dying planet’s atmosphere.”

Sighing, she moved over to the co-pilot’s seat and sunk down into the leather. Atton gave her a quick sideways glance to see how she was doing, feeling a deep concern for her that he honestly wished he didn’t feel. Strong emotions were tricky to camouflage, after all.

Blood was still fresh on her robes, brow still slick with sweat, and he could see her obvious physical exhaustion. Gingerly, she was cradling her right arm ( _Her saber arm_ , Atton noted to himself, _Hope it’s not too serious_ ). Something heavy was hanging over her too, some emotion that was thick and obvious enough that even Atton could detect it through the Force. Hot waves of pain rolled off of her, and in an instant, he felt guilty at not perhaps considering how much she must be suffering after everything that had happened.

A long silence stretched between them as they sat in the cockpit, trying to ignore their injuries.

Finally, he attempted to break the silence. “Uh, where _are_ we headed now anyway?”

The question was met with stone cold silence.

“I mean, no rush or anything. But it’s kind of an important detail when mapping out our route through hyperspace.” He tried to focus on not slipping under the weight of the pain he was feeling. The adrenaline was beginning to wane a little, the pain starting to flare up.

Something about her demeanor had been strange ever since they had left Malachor V. That strange, lingering emotion that was hanging over her grew darker and darker. It worried him. He remembered meeting her outside of the ruins of the Trayus Academy, both gasping as they breathed in the caustic air and held each other up as they limped away toward the ship.

Foolishly, he tried to lighten the tense atmosphere at the time, “ _Need any company? I mean, I’m not doing anything. Besides, if I’m not around to bail you out of trouble, who knows what could happen. All right then. Where are we going again? I mean, because last time, we were heading towards this mining colony on the edge of space, and there was this Sith Lord, and . . .”_

At the time, she’d just shook her head at him and continued forward in that soldier way of hers. Then again, they were having difficulty covering ground at the time, considering how both of them had multiple severe wounds. He’d written off her silence then as just her wanting to get to the Ebon Hawk and get the hell out of dodge.

But, now? She still wasn’t telling him what their plan was. It was more than a little odd.

“I won’t be needing you anymore.”

The words were so cold that he had a hard time believing what he was hearing. He turned to look at her inquisitively, almost as if we didn’t quite comprehend her. 

A dark look was spreading across her face, her eyes hard and pitiless. Meetra was a harsh woman with many flaws, certainly, but she was rarely this needlessly icy. To her credit, she at least looked him in the eyes as she said it, “You and I will be parting ways at the next port. You will meet up with the others on Mandalore’s ship. But I have no need for a pilot anymore.”

He was dumbstruck, but it didn’t last long, an emotional bolt of sadness mixed with anger ripped through him. It was strong enough that he could almost forget about his injuries. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I am going off on my own. I’m not coming back.” Meetra kept her gaze firmly on him, but now it was obvious she was struggling to put things into words, “Ever. I’m leaving and never coming back.”

Atton immediately tensed at hearing this, trying to cover his emotions. 

“Like hell you are.” Atton snapped, “What’s gotten into you?”

Meetra stared him down with cold eyes, but he could see signs she was losing a bit of her resolve. There was a bit of shame behind her coldness. Her mouth twitched slightly. No, not twitching exactly. Trembling? What in the stars was wrong with her?

Suddenly, it hit him. Of course. _Of course_.

“Did that _witch_ say something to you at Malachor?” Atton hissed, “That’d be just like Kreia, poisoning the well even when she’s dead.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Meetra snapped back at him, feeling oddly like she needed to defend the old woman despite everything that had happened, “But . . . yes. She said something. She said that there’s a threat in the Unknown Regions, and I need to deal with it alone. Look, I’ve already said too much. Just get out of my sight.”

Atton was, for once, at a loss for words. He sat there, staring at her blankly. Another sharp pang of sadness echoed around him, the emotions (painful ones, acute, digging) strong enough that they radiated from him and clawed out a little at her. It was unusual for him to slip like this, and of course, in a matter of seconds he had hidden the emotions away under a thousand different hyperspace coordinates and the lists of the names of Republic capital cities.

She sighed, deflating a little with regret, her coldness thawing a little.

“Look, Atton, you need to stay behind and help rebuild the Order. Find others who are sensitive to the Force and train them.” She was very pointedly looking at him now, trying everything to force herself to get this over with, “That shouldn’t be difficult for you, you already know how to track down Force-sensitives…”

“Yeah, I know how to track down and _kill_ Force-sensitives, not train them,” Atton’s face was darkening, “Are you kidding me? What did Kreia really say to you?” 

“Don’t make this difficult.”

“No, I’m not going to roll over and watch you throw yourself into some Sith meatgrinder just because that _hag_ said so.” Atton raised his voice by more than a few octaves, “Has it even crossed your mind that Kreia’s lied to you? It definitely wouldn’t be the first time.”

“She had no reason to lie about this.”

“She’d have a billion reasons. For her lying is like breathing. For all we know, Kreia might _want_ you to fail. Maybe she’s sending you into a trap. Maybe she wanted you to be alone, vulnerable. Maybe she wants you to die, because you messed up her plans, and this is the bitter old witch’s parting shot. Hell, it’s what I would’ve done when I was hunting Jedi – get the Jedi isolated, that’s the first step to an easy kill.”

Atton could see the doubt growing on her face and he continued his argument in earnest. Despite the fact he hated the idea of using the Force to pry into people’s heads, it just happened unintentionally sometimes, especially as he continued to grow into his powers. . . and now he could naturally sense the creeping fog of doubt growing in Meetra’s mind and a thousand cobwebs of interconnected private thoughts. He viciously pulled himself away from it once he realized what was happening – this was a line he wasn’t willingly going to cross, not even to win an argument over something that could potentially mean the difference between life and death for her.

He took a deep breath and centered himself. “Think about it. You need other Force-sensitives to keep your connection to the Force, right? That was the whole point of, well, the, uh, the ‘bonds’ you create. Look, I’m not an expert on this - but I’m pretty sure the basic gist is that you feed on other people’s connection to the Force to fuel your own power. How are you going to travel to some Sith hellhole, face off against who knows what, without your connection to the Force? You would have to go back to fighting things the hard way without any Jedi tricks. And I’ve seen you shoot a blaster – you’re surprisingly bad at it for a war veteran.” 

No Jedi mind tricks were needed to see she was seriously wavering. Meetra never seemed to really shield herself properly, a dangerous flaw of hers. More often than not, her emotions bled out over everywhere, coloring everything she did, despite every effort she made to control herself. Oftentimes, Atton wondered how she even passed the Jedi training, considering how they often wrung any spark out of their students from childhood. Must be why she made a terrible Jedi, he thought. _Thank the stars for that_.

“Even so,” She narrowed her eyes at him, but she was obviously starting to be swayed – her expression was laced with doubt, “You’d just be throwing your future away.”

The way she was talking worried him, it had a certain finality to it. _She’s trying to tell me she’s going to die._ A sick feeling of dread rose out of the pit of his stomach, but he immediately pushed it back into the recesses. He needed to convince her not to go ahead with this; he needed to think clearly.

Atton gave a short laugh, totally joyless, “What future do you think I have?”

“A very bright future. You’ll rebuild the Jedi Order. You’ll make it better for a new generation –”

Atton smirked at that. The idea of him teaching a bunch of snot-nosed brats about meditation and clearing your mind of impurities was hilarious, just hilarious. He would stumble into class every day after a wild night at the cantina and probably scare them all off from being Jedi in the first place. Or maybe he’d unintentionally corrupt them all to the Dark Side. That would be just his luck. The kids would be better off not bothering with the Force anyway. Often, he regretted learning his own powers – really, the Force just overly complicated things.

Atton reached out and took her hand, a movement that clearly surprised her, “The way I see it, I don’t have any business having a future. I don’t deserve one.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, but she tried her best, “That’s not true at all.”

He shook his head, “Look, I’ve wanted to die for a long time. At least let me die with you.”

There was something about the way he was looking at her that made her at a loss for words. It was an expression she’d never really seen before – was it desperation? Sadness? No, it was darker and more determined than that. It almost looked like a cross between frustration and . . . and hunger. It was unsettling, but she couldn’t quite look away from him.

Rationally, she knew Atton was now being influenced by the Force bonds – his own sense of self-preservation dissolving in favor of being near her. Her ‘talent’ was rearing its ugly head; the way his eyes gleamed slightly was more than enough evidence of it. She knew the bonds were burrowing deep in his subconscious, spreading influence like a parasitic virus. Hollowing him out and suffocating his free will. He wasn’t in his right mind. No one in their right mind would want to come with her.

There was something deep within her, a dark thought. Then a single dark thought became a stream of thoughts each one worse than the other, each one less coherent, _Who cares? You can’t help it. The bonds aren’t under your control. He’s right. You can’t trust Kreia’s word at face value. You need him to stay. You’ll go back to the shell of a person you were without those bonds. He’s willing to die. So what? He’s just a source of power you can use to get what you want. He’s useful he’s willing you don’t want to be weak again you want need have to have him –_

Suddenly, she plunged herself into a deep state of nothingness. Emptying her mind of everything, the thoughts trickled away. When darkness crept up on her, she was taught that it was most effective to starve the beast of food – to deny all emotion. Darkness takes and consumes whatever you give it. So give it nothing.

At least, that was the theory anyway. It didn’t always work in practice.

“You make a compelling argument.” She finally managed to regain her voice, “I’ll consider it. At least until we reach the Kepler Verge, then I can’t make any promises.”

She cursed herself for not steeling her resolve and just forcing Atton into the nearest escape pod. Or perhaps, she could slip away, leave him behind? However, that would leave her without a ship and no supplies. Regardless, now the situation was more complicated due to her weakness and giving in now just meant that it delayed the inevitable split they’d have to make in the future.

Atton seemed to relax slightly, giving her a cautious nod. His mind raced with numbers, gambits, coordinates, lists of Republic senators, lists upon lists of meaningless trivia. No trace of emotion or actual thought. All hidden behind a mental firewall.

Slowly, he let go of her hand, and began to prime the ship for a departure into hyperspace. Engines roared beneath them as the ship skyrocketed forward, the stars outside suddenly stretching into long lines of pure light.

“Best to settle in then,” He said, “It’s a long way to the Verge.”


	2. Chapter 2

Nobody ever tells you how boring space travel really is. No, if you judge it by all the holovids, it’s a nonstop whirlwind of action and adventure. The reality is that it involves a lot of waiting around and twiddling your thumbs, even with the advantage of hyperspace travel. But, it had been a long day—actually, it had been a long year, now that he really reflected on it— and there was something damn enjoyable about the fact he now had time to just relax before the next disaster came along. It was also nice to finally get some shuteye in a place other than a cramped cockpit. He had the Male Dorm of the Ebon Hawk all to himself now.

He was tired as a kath hound. Damn tired.

Both he and Meetra had spent most of the day being miserable in the Med-Bay. Medpacs took care of the worst of the external lacerations they’d sustained from the fighting on Malachor, but they had both endured several more serious injuries – she’d dislocated her right shoulder, suffered severe blood loss, and had multiple bone fractures along her right arm. Atton had suffered from internal bleeding from blunt force trauma, broken two of his fingers, fractured his left ribs, and had a rotator cuff injury thrown in there for fun. 

Due to the magic of modern medicine, not to mention some admittedly helpful Jedi healing techniques, they’d managed to recover from the very worst of their injuries. Now, it was just a matter of not overly straining themselves for a while and keeping their bandages on.

Atton felt his back ache as he sunk down into the cot. Hell, he practically felt like an old man.

Walking past the Male Dorm’s doorway, Meetra peered in and couldn’t seem to resist barking one last order at him before leaving for the night, “Go to sleep already.”

Atton rolled his eyes at her. He’d only literally just got into bed, and she’s already saying he’s not sleeping fast enough. She’s the eternal platoon sergeant, that one. “Yeah, yeah, sweet dreams to you too.”

Most of the day, they hadn’t really said much to each other. There was an unspoken agreement between them that they weren’t going to push things too much – he was loath to bring up the question of “What happens when we reach the Kepler Verge? You’re going to just kick me off my own ship?” due to the inevitable argument that would surely follow that question and, on top of that, all day she appeared to be stewing quietly in her own thoughts about something. In fact, she seemed to be growing more and more sullen around him.

Oh, it’d been a _real_ fantastic day. Not.

Frankly though, Atton was just glad he was able to convince Meetra that Kreia wasn’t exactly the best source of trustworthy information and at least he bought himself some time to figure out what was really going on, until they arrived at the Verge anyway. About that — he had been racking his brains trying to understand what game Kreia was really playing. For one thing, Kreia was ( _thankfully_ , he nodded) dead, so whatever plans that witch had set in motion must have been part of a larger contingency. Say what you will about the evil old ghoul, she was cunning to a fault, and definitely not someone you _ever_ wanted to underestimate. Even after death. Hell, maybe even _especially_ after death considering some of the ancient stories about Jedi ghosts.

It was hard to gauge how Meetra was doing in the aftermath of Malachor V. Their last conversation had ended in something of a truce, and now. . . things felt a little chilly between them. Granted, he fully acknowledged that he probably revealed too many personal things, things that Meetra didn’t need to be burdened with. Letting her know about his death wish probably didn’t help. The woman had more than enough problems; dumping his exceptional list of issues on her was just selfish.

Still. . . he wasn’t an idiot, despite all his efforts to project that image. He could make an educated guess as to what the real heart of the issue was. The Force bonds.

From his misspent youth of systematically, methodically torturing Jedi he knew that Force bonds were comparable to the love between parent and child. All you had to do was get your hands on the padawans, and it became laughably easy. One particularly sadistic thing he’d done once was hack the limbs, one by one, off a very young padawan no more than maybe seven-years-old, just to drive their master out of hiding. The child begged and cried to be let go. After a few hours, the child just asked to be killed. Atton – or the man who then went by “Jaq”— didn’t care, as Jedi just tricked you into feeling pity for them and were little more than dangerous animals anyway. He remembered the old justifications: if they couldn’t be made into a useful tool for Revan, then best to kill them while they’re young, before they grow into a real threat. Everything done to a padawan, especially particularly vicious things, could be felt by their master. It worked, of course, with the Jedi Knight half-mad with rage when they finally showed themselves to save their little padawan. Atton — “Jaq”— no matter how brutally he tortured them, always made sure to keep the padawans alive just long enough to finally kill them in front of their master. Just to rub it in.

He laid there in silence, memories threading through his mind.

He closed his eyes and felt shame fall over him. Feebly, he started counting cards in his head. For all the good that did him.

At least he was proving useful to her, and maybe the reason why he was so accepting of her influencing him was because of the Force bonds, maybe she really was exerting a psychic control over him. But you know what? Fine, he didn’t care.

What was more, he didn’t care _that_ he didn’t care.

This punishment of being some sort of thrall was far better than he deserved, that was for sure. There were worse fates than being at the whims of a beautiful ex-Jedi. Was it a slightly unnerving thought that she was subconsciously hypnotizing and psychically brainwashing him through the Force? Sure. But he’d made a real mess of things back when he had free will, hadn’t he? Maybe he couldn’t be trusted with it. Plus, it’s not like she’d ever done anything other than help him, and he had undeniably grown stronger due to her patiently training him in the Force. Which, once again, was more than he ever deserved.

Exhaustion overcame him, his thoughts became disjointed and tangled, and he sank into sleep.

* * *

“Beep-bop-beep _WOOO WOOO!”_

Buzzing servos and a series of irritating clicks, beeps, and clanks woke Atton up. Incessant noise filled the whole room, the annoying whirring and beep-bops only increasing in volume the longer Atton tried to ignore it and fall back asleep. Groggily, he managed to lash out a hand and strike a blow at the metal hull of that goddamn, infuriating, useless trash compactor.

“M’sleepin’…” He murmured, words slurred and muffled in his pillow, turning away from the droid, “Shuttup. Go ‘way.”

T3 just continued to beep, except now in higher and higher octaves. It was practically screaming at Atton at this point.

Groaning, Atton put his face in his hands and seriously considered how angry Meetra might be if he junked her droid. Sometimes the only reason Atton hadn’t disabled this annoying little schutta was because doing that would be inconvenient and might upset her. Her irrational love of droids, especially her fondness for this stupid thing, was not something he understood. Maybe he could throw T3 into the garbage chute and toss the droid into space. If she asked, Atton could just deny knowing anything. ‘Oh, you know droids, wandering off, never being seen again. Happens, sometimes. Best to get over it and move on!’ Nobody had to know. . .

Somewhere in the continual, grating noise, T3 said something that caught Atton off guard and immediately made him roll around in bed to face the droid.

“The oxygen filtration system?” Atton snapped at the droid, “What about the oxygen filtration system?”

A few quick beeps came in response, and Atton did _not_ like what he heard.

“Why don’t you go fix it yourself then?” Atton narrowed his eyes at the droid.

T3 gave a rather self-conscious, slow beep.

“You’re too short to reach the vents?” Atton snorted, “A repair droid that can’t repair things. Ok, remind me again why we keep you around?”

T3 gave an indignant boop, then started giving a rather sassy series of beep-bops as it turned around to leave the room.

“No, _don’t_ bother her with this!” Atton lifted himself out of bed, “She doesn’t need you pestering her with this right now. Let her sleep in peace, you hear me? I’m up, ok?”

T3 made one last, extremely crude, comment aimed at Atton and then zipped out of the room in a huff.

God, he hated droids. Trash ‘em all and be done with it.

However, if the oxygen filtration system really was on the fritz, then that was pretty urgent. The Ebon Hawk was a sturdy old girl, but she’d taken a beating that had to have set her back a little. After all, Atton remembered that even the navigation systems had been nearly fried when they limped back into the ship on Malachor, and it took a full reboot plus dependency on emergency power systems to get the ship flying again. It wouldn’t be surprising if more maintenance problems would pop up in the days ahead.

Bleary-eyed, he fumbled around, looking for his boots.

“I have to do everything around here,” Atton grumbled as he found one of his boots and accidentally put it on the wrong foot. 

* * *

She couldn’t sleep, so she was attempting the next best thing – meditation.

Even that wasn’t really working.

Even after all these years, she still often failed to center herself, making the simple mistakes expected of a mere padawan. For example, getting distracted by an itchy nose.

It was getting unbearable how much the damn thing itched. Eventually, she gave in, opened her eyes, and just scratched it.

Frustrated, she flopped backwards onto her cot. Allowing frustration to creep up on her wasn’t a good sign either.

Funnily, she'd been a better Jedi when she lost all connection to the Force. She’d wandered aimlessly, and things never seemed to frustrate her then. So numb that nothing touched her. In fact, she had been without desire or purpose for almost a full decade, at the time not finding even the drive to wash herself or change her clothes. She’d lived a homeless existence. Supporting herself by doing odd jobs in different towns and trading her droid repair expertise in exchange for lodging or money or food– but there was no fire left within her. Forming no connections, growing gradually weaker until she had forgotten the Force entirely and the last few embers of her power had gone cold.

After first leaving the Order, when she still had a small bit of stubborn hope left, she entertained the idea of trying to find her birth parents. However, she had been so young when taken to the Order, that she didn’t even have a memory of them. She combed through whatever records she could find, although she was eventually unable to track down any solid leads. All a dead end. Sometimes she tried to reach out to them with the Force, but even that turned up nothing. Chances are, they might even be dead by this point.

Just her luck.

Her mind was going in a thousand different directions, preventing her from sleeping or just clearing her mind so she could have some peace. One minute she was focused on bad memories from the Wars, next she was focused on how much her bandaged arm hurt, next she was thinking about that damn _look_ Atton gave her. . .

Right, the _look_. In many ways, she was still trying to decipher it. If she was being completely honest, it had been a bit threatening, like he was sizing her up for an attack. His emotions in that moment had been a wash of different, conflicting things – she sensed them through the Force, vague hints of hatred, concern, frustration, and, well, some traces of something that compared to hunger.

All the same, she’d been avoiding him ever since. Made it all easier to handle. When she’d walked past the Male Dorm, she’d caught a glimpse of him staring at the ceiling, and he looked awful, exhausted. Eventually, she would have to put her foot down and insist they go their separate ways.

Eventually.

But Atton wasn’t wrong about Kreia’s plan. Much of it did not make a great deal of sense.

Moreover, the idea of losing her connection to the Force, going back to a life of isolation, and going back to . . . how she was before, was painful just to imagine. All her other companions had left on Mandalore’s ship – she could sense their energy still, but it was faint, almost like a soft hum far in the distance. Or like thin strands of thread, straining, being pulled away from her until they would eventually snap. Atton really was the last connection that was readily available and strong enough to draw power from.

For some reason, it was difficult to dislodge herself from him. He was always a bit difficult, Atton. Insufferable, really.

So many things about Atton irritated her. A smug, unbearable smirk that sometimes she wanted to just slap off his face. The constant insubordination, although that was probably just her own vanity; it was hard to accept a former army grunt like him had the gall to give her backtalk – but they were both civilians now, so really, that was just her own ego talking. To his credit, he had endearing qualities. When not playing the fool, even Meetra had to admit he was impressively observant. And he was unusually caring towards her at times, something that still took her by surprise. Little things, like giving her an extra Medpac from his own supplies or taking her hand into his to give a reassuring squeeze. Strong hands. Warm.

It would be interesting to see if his smug face would disappear if she forced his hands under her tunic, shoving his fingers into the warmth between her legs.

Eyes opening in shock at herself, suddenly she was painfully aware of the wet heat spreading between her legs. Swallowing hard, she tried to master herself, and objectively understand her physical reaction. To fight something, you must understand it.

Perhaps she was strong in the Force, trained in Jedi self-discipline, but she was still physically a woman with a body that sometimes had a mind of its own. Nothing that she couldn’t control, though. Given enough analysis, she could explain most of her desires away until they lost all their appeal, and the sharp aching would eventually pass.

Let’s see— for one thing, a man like Atton wouldn’t care for her if he had a real choice. Of course, it was naïve to think his strong attachment to her was genuine, and she knew better than to believe her own occasional delusions. Given back his free will, Atton would leave her and take the first transport back to Nar Shaddaa, dumping himself into the nearest bar or brothel. It was just a fact, nothing to get morose or upset over.

Another thing was that he was, technically, her padawan. Granted, he was almost three decades older than the average trainee, and she was no longer a Jedi, thus not officially allowed to have padawans by the rules of the Order. Still, Atton learned all he knew about meditation from her, she taught him how to wield a lightsaber, how to have the Force reveal its secrets; he was dependent on her for guidance. In all but name, he was her padawan.

What’s more, it didn’t help that he was very obviously, well, a human male in close proximity. During the Wars, she’d seen enough soldiers get into ill-advised wartime affairs due to the potent combination of stress, hormones, and fear of dying. Not because of love or affection, just because there was a ready, willing body nearby. A base animal instinct to mate in the face of death.

All she’d need to do was just grab him by his jacket lapels, breathe in his scent, pull him down, and he’d be totally unable to deny her. She was utterly repulsed this was exciting her –manipulating a man who couldn’t willingly choose if he liked her or not. _It would be a total violation of his will_ , she hissed at herself _._

There was something very, very wrong with her. Sharp pangs coursed through her body just at the idea of having him fully under her control, to use and then toss aside if she wished. It was horrible, insane, depraved, Dark, and . . .

Her resolve was breaking apart by the picosecond, and her body seemed to be ignoring all of her mental commands to stop.

Temperature skyrocketing, she kicked off the blankets from her cot. Her right arm was still bundled up in gauze and bandages, most muscles still throbbing in pain from the combat on Malachor, but somehow the overpowering feeling she had right now was overriding all of that. She was awash with hormones going through her in an excruciating rush. It was pathetic. It was foolish. Weak.

Her left hand was still good, she thought desperately.

The reserves of her willpower finally ran out. Her left hand snaked down between her legs, and already she felt astonishingly wet. All of her body tensed and then relented into a wild, frenzied sensation when her fingertips started gently fondling her clit. Her breath caught in her throat.

She was so weak-willed and she hated it, but – _god_ , but it felt intoxicating, to the point where it was now impossible to stop herself from continuing. Gritting her teeth, she shifted into a painfully rough pace, her chest heaving as she finally pushed two fingers inside of her and eagerly shifted her hips to meet the rhythm of her hand.

Bizarrely, Meetra had a random thought that Master Atris would’ve greatly disapproved of what was happening right now. She could envision Atris’s sour look at the mere thought of a Jedi ‘debasing’ themselves in such a way. For some reason this just made her more inclined to continue, just out of spite. Atris with her clean ivory-white robes that somehow never gathered dirt (not even at the hem, which Meetra always found strangely infuriating), her naturally cool composure, the way her aura seemed to be a perfect tranquil layer of clear ice, impervious to emotion. The perfect Jedi.

Well, Atris wasn’t so perfect in the end, was she?

It was hard not to make disparaging comparisons between herself and Atris right now – especially since Meetra had her hand down her pants, her emotions full to the brim with jealousy and lust. Probably looked like the opposite of the ideal Jedi. Well, she was an **ex** -Jedi after all, and she had never really been quite good enough for the Order. She was a failure. Might as well embrace it.

Her rational thought was starting to unravel, and her face twisted in pleasurable agony as she rubbed herself, thinking of him.

* * *

Good news was that the oxygen filtration system didn’t sustain a serious failure, but the bad news was that the cartridge filters had become dislodged and some of them needed replacing. Which required going into the vents and manually fixing or refilling the filters, which – considering Atton’s back was still aching like hell, one hand was bundled tight in bandages, and half of his muscles were still screaming in dull pain – was not a particularly exciting prospect.

Grumbling, he opened the ship’s maintenance supply closet, rifling through piles of boxes and cylinder containers to find the filters. Taking off his belt and jacket (he knew they’d just get in the way when he started to climb belly-down in the vents), he draped them over the top of the pilot’s seat and took the few filters he was able to find with him to the nearest vent.

Atton unscrewed the bolts holding the vent to the wall and carefully put the loose screws into his pocket. Sighing, he tossed the filters into the vent, and then climbed in, wincing painfully as his bad hand crushed up against his chest as he propelled himself up into the narrow crawlspace. It was only just barely wide enough for him to squeeze through.

A sharp intake of breath, and he let out a messy sneeze from all the dust. Whoever the last owners of the Ebon Hawk were, they did not take very good care of the poor old girl. With annoyance, Atton remarked to himself that this area hadn’t been cleaned in years. He would have paid more attention to it before now, if his mind hadn’t been so occupied with avoiding Sith Lords and flying the ship out of increasingly precarious situations.

Crawling belly-down, sliding through a thick soft layer of dust, he slowly made his way to the first filter and replaced it with the new cartridge. The metal grate below him looked down into the pilot’s cockpit, the navigation panel twinkling with multicolored lights.

While he was twisting the filter cartridge into place, he heard what sounded like a groan echoing from farther down the vents.

Frowning, he squinted down the long corridor of the vent and tried to determine the source of the noise.

Curiosity piqued, he shuffled face-forward down the vent. He saw the light from the rooms below reflected on the metal, and as he got closer to the noise, the more he suspected that the source probably wasn’t coming from a piece of machinery.

“. . . _mmh. . ._ ”

Whatever it was grew slightly louder as he got closer, the vents naturally amplifying the tiniest sound, and his ears strained to hear. He reached the next grate, which looked down into what must have been the Female Dorm.

Then it hit him like a slap across the face.

The sounds were coming from a human. _Her._

“ . . . _aah_ , mmh. . .”

Not only was he hearing sounds of arousal but there was also wet, repetitive sounds that made his face immediately grow warm. The vents suddenly felt like they were steaming hot; it was becoming impossible to breathe. He shook himself, totally stupefied by what he was hearing, almost in denial. No way, this wasn’t really happening. He hadn’t had a good lay since way before Peragus II, so his brain was probably so sex-starved at this point that it was desperately making stuff up out of nothing.

Except, then his eyes focused.

And he peered down the grate into the room below him.

She was buck naked, except for her trousers which had been pushed all the way down to her knees. Skin glinting with sweat in the soft glow of the yellow florescent lights. One long lovely arm was reaching down and pleasuring herself; it took him almost an eternity to believe what he was seeing. Her robes and tunic were haphazardly strewn over the floor around her cot. Eyes half-lidded, her face was turned away, not even seeing him. Paralyzed in shock, he was terrified out of his mind she might see him spying from the vents, he couldn’t move or look away from her even if he wanted to.

“… _yes_ … _”_ Her voice purred wonderfully, “Aaah, _yes, that’s_. . .”

His mouth felt dry, and he absentmindedly realized it had been open for a while. Gulping, he shut his mouth and tried to think straight. It didn’t work. His pulse raced as he grew maddeningly aroused listening to her softly mewl and purr those nonsense words. Suddenly, his clothes felt far too tight, and the vents felt like they were closing claustrophobically in on him.

Her hips glistened with sweat as they slowly bucked against her hand, thighs spreading apart a little wider, “Aaah. . . aaaah, _please_. . .”

It felt like a dream, watching her do this, everything had a slightly surreal quality to it. He almost forgot to breathe as he watched her. It was hypnotic the way her breasts heaved and fell, her nipples stiffening. His tongue rubbed up against the back of his teeth, and his imagination was in a frenzy trying to visualize her reaction if he ever dragged his tongue along her skin. 

“Aaah, hah. . . aah, Atton. . .”

Wait a minute, he must have misheard that. The way she was breathlessly gasping air, it almost sounded like she’d said –

“ _Please_ , aah, oh god, _Atton.”_

Eyes widening, his mouth literally dropped. There was no denying it; she was definitely, most certainly, absolutely, positively saying his name. Not just ‘saying’ it, in fact she was slightly yelling it.

It hit him now how he’d just intruded on something very private, it was wrong to watch her like this, and he should feel a huge deal of guilt because of that. But— but—

Oh, he fucking loved it. Who was he even kidding? The sight of her lying on that cot right now, panting and pleading and running herself ragged with the thought of him was stroking his ego like he couldn’t believe. The smuggest of grins broke out over his face, despite himself. A sudden arc of pure pleasure shot up his spine like lightning, but it was followed by a feeling of uncomfortable stiffness as his cock got harder pressing against the metal of the vents. It was far, far too cramped in here.

She was so adorable. Funny to think of her that way – her being a Sith-killer, former General, and probably guilty of several war crimes— but, hell, she really was unbearably darling right now. Eyes half-closed in a faraway gaze, her eyelashes fluttered gently. Her head tilted backward, exposing her long beautiful neck and it almost seemed like it was begging for someone to kiss it. Her cheeks were pink and blossoming, giving a truly delightful glow to her face. Hips rising and falling carefully with the movement of her hand, her mouth parted slightly as they made little gasps of air.

Atton has always thought it was a cruel joke to give a woman like that such a kissable mouth, only for her to be locked up most of her life in a Jedi monastery.

What he’d give to be next to her on that cot; he’d allow her to lie back and he’d do the work her hands were presently doing, using his own fingers to guide her to climax. He wanted to lick the sweat off her skin; the urge to touch her was almost infuriating, grab her and just finger fuck her until she was losing her mind as much as he was right now. Maybe he’d even take her hand (the one not wrapped up in medical gauze, naturally) and he’d lead her hand around his cock. He’d give anything. Anything and everything.

Moaning, her pace was starting to quicken a little, her fingers impatiently doing their work. Her breathing was getting heavier, deeper. Looking down at her, he wondered what was happening now in her fantasy. For a minute, he had the darkest of impulses to peer into her mind and see for himself. Atton physically recoiled from the thought – his arousal diminishing just at the idea of doing that. It felt like a bucket of ice water was dumped on him. What was _wrong_ with him? All of this, watching her, all of it, an invasion of her privacy. And it didn’t matter if he was prying open her mind or not, since what he was currently doing was practically just as bad. He’d already crossed a line just by staying and watching. And he was _getting off_ on it.

Feeling disgusted with himself, he propped up his one good arm and readied himself to quietly retreat back down the vent from the way he came. Before he could realize what was happening however, the rusted screws to the air vent gave out, causing the circular grid to collapse and fall, clattering loudly on the metal floor of Meetra’s room. Losing his balance, and with nothing to hold onto, he fell down onto the floor along with it. The part of the floor that just so happened to be right beside her bed.

When she saw him, she immediately sprang up in panic, stumbling a little since her trousers which were still bunched up at her knees, and she screamed at the top of her lungs.


	3. Chapter 3

When she stopped screaming, her mouth hung open in shock.

For a minute, they just stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at each other in terrified silence.

Atton was frozen on the floor, looking up at her with a stupidly horrified expression. She was standing several feet away from him, her stance reflexively going into one prepared for combat. Despite himself, his eyes went over her naked body, somehow it looked even nicer with her standing upright rather than lying down. Looking down at Atton crumpled on her floor and then looking down at herself – frantically, she pulled up her trousers back to her hips, and covered her naked breasts with her arm. Reddening, she gave him a furious, accusing look.

“W-what in the _hell_ are –?” She stuttered, face deepening into crimson red, “Why are you – how did – you—”

He put his hands up over his head as though he was being arrested by the TSF all over again. “Ok, let’s just take it easy. This— isn’t what it looks like. Actually, it is. But, that’s not the whole story, I swear. I swear.”

“Why – were you watching me – how in – ?”

“Hold on, it’s not like I _meant_ to watch you. But the filtration system needed to be fixed and Bao-Dur’s not around anymore, so now I have to do all the damn work around here.” Atton felt his mind racing, trying to come up with what to even say next, “So, y’know, I go to fix it. And I hear you. . . moaning. . . and of course I thought something was, I dunno, wrong. But you were— uh — ”

Meetra suddenly felt crippled under the weight of her own humiliation, “You really expect me to believe —?”

Beeping cheerfully, T3 suddenly rolled into the room.

They both turned, looking blankly at the droid. Giving a couple confused chirps, T3 scanned the scene. The pesky human male was crouched down on the floor, two long arms raised over the male’s vapid head. Judging by the data from T3’s biometric scanners, the human’s heart-rate and body temperature were both extremely elevated. Analyzing the idiotic male’s face, T3 could determine that the pupils of this useless primate were also dilated. 

Actually, now that the droid fully examined the situation, his owner’s heart rate was also at an abnormally fast rate. Concern subroutines initiating, T3 noted that her body language and her facial contractions matched what his human behavior reference files flagged as embarrassment. Even more atypical was the fact she was not clothed from the waist up, leaving her incredibly vulnerable to the cold or to a physical attack. This was truly a strange situation. T3 noted to itself that humans really were utterly bewildering.

“Oh, wonderful. Everyone’s here.” Atton slunk further down onto the floor, secretly hoping that somehow it would open up and swallow him.

T3 rattled out a series of puzzled noises, bobbing back and forth nervously.

Meetra steadied her voice, trying to reign in her mortification and shock, as she bent down to pick up her wrinkled tunic from the floor. Somehow, it seemed extremely indecent to be half-naked in front of the droid, “It’s nothing to worry about, T3, just go b-back to your duties. I was just l-leaving.”

Atton looked desperately at T3, “Wait, T3, tell her – tell her what I was doing up in the vents in the first place.”

T3 snarkily beeped at him, swaying its metal hull in a way that Atton was sure was supposed to mimic sarcasm.

“No, you useless bucket of bolts, I haven’t fixed the oxygen filtration system yet!” Atton let out an exasperated sigh, gesturing towards the broken vent in the ceiling above them, “I ran into some pretty damn severe problems. Now just. . . tell her.”

Cautiously, T3 let out a few tentative boops, trying to understand what was _wrong_ with these two humans. Eventually, it gave a complete explanation of the issues with the oxygen filtration system, and as the droid continued, the more and more Meetra’s face seemed to be drained of blood. Finally, when the droid had finished his report, she looked like she wanted nothing more than to just disappear into thin air.

“Oh.” She murmured quietly.

“Yeah. ‘Oh’. . .” Atton kicked himself, feeling like an idiot. Why couldn’t he think of something better to say? Something to smooth the situation over?

The feelings of shame and discomfort diffused from her so strongly that Atton wasn’t even sure what to say next. She wasn’t even bothering to shield her emotions at this point, perhaps she was simply unable to. Everything was just tumbling out, painfully exposed in the Force, and he felt as though he was experiencing her emotions himself – he was extremely dismayed when he sensed how degraded she felt.

Quickly, she moved towards the door, clumsily putting her tunic back on. She was looking down at the ground as she walked out, “Sorry, I’ve . . . I don’t know.”

Atton opened his mouth to speak— but couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to say as he watched her leave. Actually, no, he wanted to tell her a thousand different things, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to say any of them. Slumping, his hands fell back down to his sides, and he turned to look helplessly at T3, who was continuing to beep at him in absolute bafflement.

* * *

The next few days were nothing short of torture.

Avoiding him like the Tarisian plague, she’d locked herself away in her room and stayed submerged deep in meditation. On his end of things, his pazaak games were running non-stop in his head, but underneath all that, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Most of his nights ended in a compelling desire to be next to her. Of course, Atton used every trick in the book to mask how intensely he felt now – especially since he realized these weren’t genuine feelings, not really. He wasn’t _that_ naïve. Just because she’d had a few dirty thoughts about him didn’t mean anything. It was just hormones and stress, harmless but still meaningless.

Atton knew all too well that Jedi kind of overreacted when it came to anything involving sex — most of the time, they treated it like a deadly threat. Back when he hunted them, most recoiled at even the faintest temptation. Or they gave in and lost their damn minds, almost becoming unhinged and violent. Needless to say, the Jedi philosophy obviously created quite a few psychological hang-ups. No doubt, Meetra wasn’t an exception.

Half of the time, Atton worried that she’d jump into an escape pod and he’d never see her again. Other times, he had a sinking feeling that things would never go back to normal between them. At this rate, she’d never want him to travel with her.

And, sometimes, he just wanted to laugh his ass off because this was all so incredibly stupid.

Still, he wanted to make things right. At least, put her at ease, somehow. He had an idea. . . well, it was risky. Very risky. And, potentially, humiliating. He turned the idea over in his head a couple times, going back and forth on it, weighing the pros and cons.

It could backfire horribly, he admitted to himself. Or, if all went according to plan, it could make her feel a little less embarrassed. If he was really lucky, it might even make her laugh. Might be worth the gamble if it made her feel better. Of course, she’d be laughing _at him_ , but . . . still. Better than nothing.

Dammit, he was going to just risk it.

* * *

Sinking into the infinite void of the Force, Meetra had been in a state of constant meditation for what she assumed was at least a few standard days. She didn’t keep track. Time became less linear. The world seemed to be in flux. Anything to escape. Meetra threw herself into a fasting ritual, hoping it might balance her and give clarity to her senses. If anything, the process might help control. . . _whatever_ was going on with her at the moment.

Then again. . . she conceded that was a slightly melodramatic. She knew _exactly_ what was going on. She wasn’t a girl.

During the Wars, she’d known Republic soldiers would go off to the local cities for shore leave, coming back to the base looking hazy-eyed and smelling of some stranger’s perfume or cologne. They’d tried to hide it, but their minds were easily pierced, easily exposed – their thoughts full of personal moments laid bare before her. It had been kind of awkward. Kind of funny sometimes, too.

Days passed before she finally felt a soreness in her stomach. Hunger. When she opened her eyes, she was ravenous.

Frowning, she looked down at her body disapprovingly, silently cursing it for wanting food.

All right, she admitted that wasn’t exactly mentally healthy. But, screw it. It was annoying. Everything about having a body was annoying. As a Jedi, you were instructed to stop thinking of yourself as a person, but more of a conduit of the Force. You are expected to view your body as a mere tool for the will of the Force, not your own will. Ignore the limits of your physical boundaries. That was the. . . idea, anyway.

As an ex-Jedi, things got a lot messier.

Whatever. She was dying for a cup of caf and a piece of toast.

Her legs wobbled a little as she got up, but after a moment of allowing the feeling to come back to her legs, she continued straight to the starboard kitchen.

Naturally, it was too much to hope that she could enjoy breakfast alone.

Pouring himself a cup from the kettle, Atton was standing with his back to her. Suddenly, he swiveled around to look at her.

Internally screaming, she took one look at him and silently turned around to leave.

Atton reached out his hand that was still holding the cup of caf, accidentally spilling a little on himself, “Just wait a second! Just hang on. I need to talk to you.”

For some reason, she actually stopped. Or maybe she just froze, unsure of what to do next. Regardless, Atton sloppily wiped the drips off his hands, and put the cup on the table in front of her. Almost like he was placing a peace offering before her.

Slowly he backed away, as if he was afraid she would run for the exit at any moment if he got too close, and then he poured himself a cup too. Cautiously, he took a seat. Taking a sip from his cup, he smiled at her.

Strangely, despite wanting nothing more than to get out of that room, she was too proud to scurry away now. Damn him. Besides that, she really was desperate for something to eat and drink. Biting her lip, she sank down into the seat across from him, and tried her best to play it cool as she gulped down the caf.

For a moment, he hesitated.

Then he started talking.

“Ok, I want to clear the air between us,” Atton said, putting down his cup and sighing, “So, I’m going to tell you how I lost my virginity. And, before you give me that look, trust me, this is actually going somewhere.”

That got her attention. Meetra snorted, almost spitting out her drink. Immediately, her eyes widened, and she hardly could believe what she was hearing. Then again, she guessed she shouldn’t clutch her pearls, considering the events of the last few days. Meetra couldn’t stop herself from frowning at Atton though, wondering where the hell he planned on going with this.

“So, I was sixteen and just joined the Republic army. I lied and told them I was older, but – you know how it was during the Wars, lots of us lied, and the Republic was so desperate for reinforcements that they didn’t bother to verify our real ages. Anyway,” Atton shrugged, “There was this Twi’lek sniper in my platoon, and I might have, uh, exaggerated my experience because I was a dumb teenager and wanted to impress her.”

Pausing, he took a sip of caf and then forced himself to continue, “Well, one thing leads to another, and once we had a moment alone she ends up straddling me. First time with a woman, let alone an alien. I had no idea what to do with her. I was so nervous I got a nosebleed. Obviously, she sees I was all talk, but she rolls her eyes and keeps going. Great, right? Wrong. I only lasted about a minute. It doesn’t end there. You know when you’re young the rebound happens fast, so we actually went for round two. Keep in mind, she’d killed more Mandos than anyone else in our squad. Hot, but scary. Long story short. . . She basically demands that I slap her ass, and frankly, I’m too terrified of her to say no. So she’s riding me, and my hand swung just as her ass went up. Totally missed her ass, but I ended up smacking my own balls at full force by mistake. I doubled over and fell off the bed. So, yeah, that’s the story of my first time.”

Struggling, she forced herself to suppress a laugh – she took a hurried sip from her cup to hide the look on her face. Meetra wasn’t exactly sure _why_ he was sharing this, but she also wasn’t sure if laughing at him was really appropriate. Oddly, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

Atton noticed her reaction. He didn’t look bothered, in fact he _kept going_.

“Ok, here’s another. My first experience with a guy wasn’t any better, let me tell you.” Atton whistled, “This was after I defected from the Republic and joined Revan’s forces. In my twenties at this point.” Atton continued, taking another sip, “A lot of the Jedi who left the Republic went a little wild after they realized they didn’t need to follow the Code anymore. Us soldiers just let them have their way, because I mean, what were we going to do about it? They’d break us in half if we said no. So, there was this Jedi— er, Sith, I guess— who basically forced me against a wall. Now, before you go feeling sorry for me, I was actually kind of turned on. He was good-looking, so I was game. I just finished eating my lunch, and trust me, that’s a relevant detail in this story. He pushes me to my knees, grabs me by my hair, and for no reason at all, he just assumes I know what I’m doing. So I have his dick in my mouth, trying my best, and this guy just rams it down my throat. I had a gag reflex and puked my lunch all over his crotch. I’m _still_ surprised he didn’t kill me right then and there.”

Meetra pressed her lips firmly together, trying her best to look composed, but it became clear that it was becoming vain to hold onto any semblance of her dignity at this point. Atton definitely wasn’t holding onto _his_ dignity anymore. She put her hand to her mouth, forcing herself to keep it together.

“Now, that’s not to say I haven’t had plenty of good times. . .” Atton smiled pleasantly at her, “But, you just have to accept there’s going to be embarrassing times too. Just wanted to let you know that, in the grand scheme of things, what happened the other day wasn’t even that bad.” Atton shrugged casually, “Kind of flattering, to be honest.”

A moment passed before Meetra was able to fully process this deluge of information. She shook her head, staring down at her cup and smiling.

Satisfied, Atton took a large swig of caf, and got up from his chair.

“Atton,” She said as he started to leave the kitchen, “Thanks. That was actually very kind of you.”

“Sure,” He said, “Trust me, those aren’t the only stories.”

* * *

Things were different now. But, thankfully, they weren’t necessarily worse.

It seemed easier between them. More relaxed, somehow, like they had reached an understanding that neither of them were perfect, so might as well just move on and deal with it. Still, they didn’t bring up the events of the last few days. Of course, they had things to distract them, since there were many repairs that needed doing.

Nearly all their injuries had healed, so they decided together to repair the ship’s damage sustained at Malachor. Meetra agreed to rewire the power couplings and fix any electrical problems in the ship, and Atton had the job of completing the repairs to the oxygen filtration system ( _finally_ , he thought) along with any other miscellaneous problems that popped up. The Ebon Hawk was starting to look like her old self again. Every day, things got slightly better.

The Verge was fast approaching. Atton tried to not bother himself too much with worrying what would happen next.

Sitting cross-legged in the main hold, Meetra was repairing the traces on a circuit board that she’d laid out on the floor. When Atton walked in, she was too consumed in her work to notice.

He yawned, watching her as he sat down at the large circular table in the center of the room. Plonking down a bottle of unlabeled high-octane liquor that he’d found tucked away in the ship’s cargo bay, he poured himself a glass and drank. He winced and shivered – it was strong, bitter, probably from Pamarthe. Or it could be cleaning fluid for all he knew. Still, it had enough alcohol content to do the job.

Grumbling quietly at the circuit board, Meetra put her head in her hands, hitting a roadblock with her repairs.

“Take a break,” Atton took the bottle and decanted a small amount for her. “You’ve been at it all day.”

Defeated, she put the circuit board away and moved to the table. Sinking down into a seat, she grabbed the drink and swallowed a gulp – immediately spitting it back into her glass in disgust.

“Not even sure if this’s supposed to be consumed by humans.” Atton cautiously took another sip, “But, ugh. . . screw it. It takes the edge off.”

The taste was foul, and she felt her sinuses flaring up – hadn’t had swill this bad since she was in the dark, depressing trenches on Dagory Minor during the Wars. She remembered the trenches. Hard times. It had been the first time she’d ever had strong drink – at first, the men had treated Jedi like her with caution, suspicion, and more than a few had called the Jedi “damn robes” underneath their breath. As the War raged on, the snide comments and the coldness from the men lessened as things got worse. Cornered in the desperate trenches of Dagory Minor, both Jedi and common soldiers realized that anyone could die. Everyone passed the bottle around, trying to forget that death was waiting patiently for them all.

Soldiers would drink anything in dire situations, no matter how. . . dubious the liquor might be. You just held your nose and downed it.

Well, old habits die hard. She pinched her nose and forced herself to take a drink.

She needed some courage to bring up what she wanted to say, anyway.

Turning the glass slowly around in her hands, she felt herself relax slightly as the liquor took its course. “I’ve set a bad example for you. Considering, well, what happened. I’m so sorry.”

Atton didn’t miss a beat.

“No apology necessary,” He gave her pat on the shoulder, “It’s normal. Completely normal, despite what the Jedi say about it. I mean, with a guy like me around, who could blame you?”

“Right,” She shook her head, her hand going to her forehead, “I have a feeling I’ll never hear the end of this.”

“Now you know most of my worst moments, I’d say we’re even. If I ever get uppity, you can always bring up the time I vomited all over a Sith Lord’s crotch.”

She snorted, shaking her head, “You are so vulgar.”

“And, so what? Everyone’s vulgar. Some are just better at hiding it.” Atton gave a half-shrug, “Speaking of which, it’s nice to know the Jedi didn’t brainwash you about everything. . .”

Hesitating, she took another sip, lips puckering at the liquor’s bitterness. After pausing for a minute, she turned towards him, her expression becoming a little glum and withdrawn.

Raising an eyebrow, he watched her, waiting for something to happen.

“I’m reluctant to admit it, but the Jedi have their reasons for those rules,” Finally she managed to speak; her voice was attempting to be stoic, “There’s more than enough evidence that we can’t be trusted with those types of emotions.”

“Oh, right, _those_ types of emotions.” Atton rolled his eyes, smiling, “Then again— good point, it would be one hell of a divorce if it didn’t work out, huh? Probably end up nuking a planet during the custody battle over who gets to keep the pet gizka.”

“Yes, exactly.” Meetra smiled into her drink, her expression brightening. Despite himself, Atton felt happy to see her cheer up a little.

“But, y’know,” Atton frowned, putting his hand to his chin, “It would have been a lot harder to wipe out the Jedi if they reproduced. Too bad the Jedi never caught onto that idea. I’d pity the poor woman who’d end up with Master Vrook though.”

Smiling, she rolled her eyes and stared down into her glass.

He hadn’t seen her smile this much in, well, ever. It suited her, he had to admit. During the past year, there hadn’t been much opportunity to just enjoy themselves. Absentmindedly, he wondered what would have happened if they had met each other before Peragus II, if they had met each other during the Mandalorian Wars or if they had met during her exile; perhaps things would’ve gone better for them both if they met sooner.

Everything seemed to be going so well until she said, “I’m going to miss you, Atton.”

All right, maybe it was a bad idea offering her a drink. Atton hoped she wasn’t a sad drunk.

“Oh, this again,” Atton’s face darkened, “Listen, I know you’ve probably dreamed up this whole tragic Jedi fantasy about going off alone and stoically facing down evil against all odds and, sure, that’d make a great story. But that’s not reality. Even someone like you needs backup.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, she looked at him with _pity_. He’d have laughed in her face, if it hadn’t been so tiring (and, at this point, a little insulting). She sounded miserable as she said, “You don’t have the free will to choose, not really.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Atton said, downing his drink, “You’re overthinking this.”

“And you’re not thinking at all.” Meetra frowned at him, “Even now, the way you talk. The bonds, they twist people’s minds. Nobody comes back from the Unknown Regions. Think: would you want to die if you really had the choice? Before we met, you always kept going despite everything. Now, you’re happy throwing your life away?”

“I’m not ‘throwing’ anything away,” Atton firmly put his drink down, “I’m helping you, and trust me, that’s a lot more worthwhile than what I was doing before we met. This may come as a surprise to you, but believe it or not, you don’t know everything about me.”

This was starting to get on his nerves— just because she could crawl inside his head, she thought she had him all figured out? She . . . she. . .

Atton’s head started to spin a little, seeing double. Narrowing his eyes, he took a critical look at the bottle of booze, wondering what the hell was really in this stuff. He was no lightweight, but this was much stronger than he’d thought.

Hazily, he looked at her.

Expression softening, she swayed slightly to the side while looking at him. Absentmindedly, he wondered if she’d maybe had a little too much to drink too.

Meetra rubbed her hand over her lips and said, “No, that’s not what I mean. This is. . . difficult to put into words.” She downed another sip of the drink, “I don’t want you to die. I want you to live a long, happy life. Despite the fact. . . that I. . . I don’t know. I don’t trust myself. Do you know what I’m trying to tell you, Atton?”

“Nope, y’lost me.” Atton slurred, feeling the sickly sweet aftertaste of the liquor grow a little stale in his mouth.

She looked at him hopelessly. Taking in a sharp breath, like she was about to say something, but ultimately couldn’t find the words.

“ _Look_ ,” Atton put his hand on her shoulder, teetering a little, “It’s true. I didn’t have much to die for before we met. Didn’t have much to _live_ for either.”

What happened next was kind of a blur.

Her face pressed into the crook of his neck, and immediately he felt his combat training rush to the forefront of his mind – a thousand scenarios played out in a millisecond— he could coil his forearm around her neck and force her into a choke hold. He could lift her over, apply pressure to the back of her neck, and throw her onto the ground. He could –

Gently she wrapped her arms around him and drew him closer. Her breath was warm against his neck; a dizzying feeling overtook him. His heart leapt up into his throat. And simultaneously he felt completely paralyzed, feeling almost like prey in the maw of a predator.

Her lips lingered against his neck, and he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “Oka _yyy_ , I’m getting some mixed signals here, but just so you know, our platonic relationship is really starting to turn me on.”

Atton had to admit he was losing his touch. Was _that_ really the best he could come up with?

Feeling her lips curl into a smile against his skin, he felt her relax – and then suddenly tense, shaking her head slightly against his neck, her hair tickling the underside of his jaw. Obviously, she was battling with herself over something. All the same he felt like he was frozen in place, waiting for the best time to act on. . . well, act on what he’d been wanting to do since she walked into the jail in Peragus wearing nothing but skintight underwear.

“Not sure if this is. . . dammit, I don’t know.” Meetra finally took a deep breath, her fingernails digging slightly into him, “I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me up the damn wall.”

“Yeah, well,” Atton shrugged, “At any given time, it’s safe to assume I’m having inappropriate thoughts about you too.”

“As part of your mental blocking technique, maybe,” She said, almost glumly, “Kreia told me all about that.”

“Oh, sure, bet she loved telling you all the sordid details,” He snorted softly, but his gaze was firmly fixed on the wall, almost as though he was afraid of looking at her, “Although the best techniques tend to have an element of _truth_ to—”

Her lips pressed up against his neck in short bursts of contact, each kiss a little more confident as they trailed along. It was honestly so surprising that his mind went into a state of blank shock, and in a lot of ways this felt like some sort of insane, wonderful dream. Atton couldn’t stop himself from weaving his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. It felt indescribably good, although it also felt somehow like the air was being sucked out of his lungs with every kiss.

As her lips traveled across his neck, he clumsily interrupted her as he bowed his chin. A moment of confusion passed between them as they both decided on next steps. On instinct, Atton positioned his hand firmly on the back of her head to hold her still, tangling his fingers tightly in her hair, and he pressed his lips hard against hers. Her eyes closed, but Atton kept his eyes slightly open – a remnant from his days with the Sith spec ops, he guessed, after all you should never lose sight of your target. Also, he liked the way her brow furrowed, a lovely flush coming to her cheeks, and closing his eyes would mean he’d be missing out on the look on her face.

Atton pushed his tongue into her mouth, running over the surfaces within – she stiffened slightly, a small moan escaping her. She pushed back against him, recoiling a little. Cautiously, he withdrew his tongue, only for her to start quickly nipping at his lower lip in a cloying, reconciliatory way. He could still taste the sourness of the liquor on her breath as her kiss turned into a vicious bite on his lower lip. It hurt, no question, but something about the pain was amazing.

She jolted away from him, shuddering.

“Wait,” She said pulling away, “Wait!”

Suddenly, he felt himself deflate with disappointment. He wanted nothing more than to keep going.

“Sure, I understand,” Atton lifted up her chin, his breath ragged in his throat, “I understand, you need more time –”

“No, Atton. You _stink_ ,” She said, shaking her head and pulling further away, “I’m sorry, but – your _breath_. And when did you last bathe?”

Atton squinted his eyes, thinking. _Good question. Before seeing Kreia on Malachor V, probably._

She gave him an exasperated look, before pulling him in for a quick kiss on the cheek, “Let’s get you into the refresher.”

Briefly, he cupped his hand into his mouth to smell his breath – and, yeah, it definitely had a rotten egg aroma about it. It was a wonder she put up with it at all. Honestly, he hadn’t really had much motivation to bother staying fresh-smelling, until very recently. He felt her fingers lace into his, as she pulled him into the next room.

Some days, Atton was convinced the Force had a sense of humor.


End file.
